Title image by chikache. CC BY-NC 2.0
From a somewhat silly request on a forum comes a story I’m quite fond of.
The studio, his studio, that dirty gentleman’s studio, was bare. All the carefully collected furniture (he collected many things, all of them carefully) was pushed out of the way. The long main room was clear and the mats were on the hardwood floor and early morning light was shining in thick square beams from the old windows and showed the little particles of dust in the air.
Dorothy, as usual, was making art. Luckily, she sometimes let me watch.
She said nothing but led me to a little chair with a connected desk; the ones they have in college lecture halls. On it was a small old fashioned portable typewriter. Black and scratched and loaded with a fresh sheet of paper. A table next to the desk held a box with more paper.
She kissed me on the cheek and left me to my part, which was to record what was about to happen.
I’m not sure who she got to set up the pulleys, but it was quite ingenious. She might have done it herself, since she was certainly a crafty woman. The ceiling was now dotted with black wheels, rope attached here and there and hanging down, making long shadows on the mats.
Dorothy was in her painting clothes. Black knee high socks spattered with paint, over fishnets, over some other hosiery, all mixed up and ripped and held up by garters and ingenuity. A well worn cincher around her waist, a demi-cup bra that was barely covering her rouge nipples.
Her face was serious, lips pursed as she tended to the girls on the floor.
Vyvyan was resting comfortably over a rather large ottoman, a small red velvet pillow under her belly to prop her up, her wrists an ankles each tied to the small legs. A spreader bar making sure she was open, ready. A sort of obscene piece of pink furniture, speckled with faded bruises and half healed cuts. My face was already warm from meeting this new person I’d only conversed with online and seeing every secret inch of her without even looking her in the eye.
Elle was sitting cross-legged on the mat, looking around, biting her lip but relatively still. She looked scared, but as I watched Dorothy kneel in front of her and push and pull her around Elle’s embarrassment seemed to be waring with her arousal.
Dorothy was all business, as she often was while working. She straightened the girl and painted her face. A sponge with foundation, a little more theatrical than I’d seen her do it before. Then two circles of blush high up on the girl’s cheeks. A Cupid’s bow of lipstick making her kiss seem smaller, permanently puckered. Elle’s eyes made bigger through the science of shadows and highlights.
The girl wore nothing but a pearl white slip and as Dorothy went to pull it off Elle’s eyes went to me for the first time. Her cheeks flushed noticeably red under the makeup.
Dorothy saw her reaction, but pulled the girl’s hands away from her clothes and pulled the slip off gingerly.
There was something deliberate and precise about the way Dorothy handled the girl. The way she batted at her if she didn’t move the way she was supposed to, the way she grabbed Elle’s chin firmly if she looked away when getting makeup applied.
Dorothy slipped a small white lace bra on the girl and pushed and straightened her breasts. The girl looked over at me and I smiled. I was drinking her in. This wasn’t my scene, this wasn’t my art piece but I was there and I could enjoy it. I could enjoy the way she swallowed and squirmed as my eyes followed the curve of her long neck down to her smooth chest and belly and down to the bare split between her legs.
Dorothy almost smiled. Almost. For a moment she slapped the girl’s legs open and I could swear Dorothy shifted to give me a momentary look at the pink between the girl’s pretty legs. It was refreshing to see that kind of embarrassment over something so simple flash over a girl’s face.
From a trunk nearby Dorothy took a leather harness which was thicker than most I’d seen. I noticed two metal rings set on each side and two more on the front and back, separate from the intricacies of the harness’s straps and buckles.
Into the harness went a sizable but not absurdly large cock. Lewdly black and threatening. Cock went in harness and harness went on the girl, who now looked both absurd and formidable.
Pulling the doll up by her hands, Dorothy brought her over to a dress form in the corner which wore a short pink party frock, complete with white petticoats, lacy little sleeves, perfect bows and sparkles.
Elle sort of rolled her eyes and her crooked smile broke into a laugh when she saw the dress. She stepped back looking around.
“That dress is way –” but she was silenced by a smack.
Dorothy frowned deeply and Elle’s smile disappeared. She went to rub her cheek, but her hand was swatted away.
Dorothy didn’t say a word, the only sound was Elle’s now labored breathing and my typewriter. Slowly the smart girl got the point. She wasn’t there to speak, nor to move. She was there to be a tool; a doll. A puppet for a performance.
As Elle was dressed her fidgeting seemed to diminish. As white stockings were pulled on her long legs and matching gloves up to her elbows, Elle’s body relaxed. Dorothy carefully slipped pretty black Mary Janes on her feet and a matching black bow around her neck.
As Dorothy stood and started to gather the ropes that hung from the ceiling Elle sat on the floor in her new dress, looking younger, paler and almost lifelessly beautiful.
Ropes went around the pretty girl’s wrists and elbows. Rope around her knees and ankles. Rope up under those pretty skirts and through the rings on the girl’s harness.
Dorothy, with the strength of the craftsperson she was, grunted as she pulled at various ropes. The pulleys turned and the ropes creaked and the girl was soon standing and then dangling in the air.
Her arms now poised high above her and her hands hanging down limply. Her head resting on her own shoulder. Her eyes now unfocused and cold.
Dorothy set about brushing the puppet’s hair, pulling it into short pigtails, tying it with pink bows. She set about covering up any little freckles on the puppet’s exposed skin. Fixing her pink dress and pulling her towards Vyvyan, who hadn’t made a sound the whole time.
Looking at the woman on the ottoman I saw that the main reason she wasn’t making a sound was because of the ball gag in her mouth. I couldn’t see her face though, only her ass in the air and the split of her pussy.
Dorothy, working quickly, checked Vyvyan’s hands and feet; making sure the ropes hadn’t cut off circulation. She then smoothed her hands over the women’s skin before turning her attention back on Elle.
Pulling the neck of the pretty pink dress down a bit, then adjusting it so she could pull it down more, Dorothy pulled the girl’s breasts out of the top just enough so that her nipples were exposed. There was a moment of protest on the puppet-girl’s lips, but by that point she knew to swallow it down.
Dorothy retrieved two objects from the table, each a pair of nipple clamps attached by a chain. She then, gingerly, attached one clamp to each of the girl’s nipples so that the long chains dangled down. Gathering the front of the girl’s dress she attached the other end of each chain to the hem so that the dress was help up in the front and the frilly dress and pettycoats were attached to the girl’s ever reddening nipples.
Dorothy knelt in front of the girl and straightened her white stockings, her garters, the black cock. She then led the girl across the room until she was hovering behind Vyvyan’s prone form.
The girl’s face was awash with fear and pleasure. Her mouth slightly slack and her doll eyes wide. Soon she was poised right behind the prone woman, rubber phallus inches from pink wetness.
Dorothy checked all of the limbs. She checked tautness of rope. She reached down and rubbed the exposed slickness between Vyvyan’s legs. That was the only time so far I saw a little smile creep over her face. She procured a little bottle, oiled the hard cock with its contents. liberally smoothed the liquid into Vyvyan’s pussy.
Final shifts in ropes before Dorothy took her place at the helm of two ropes. She stood a few feet away from the women cum props. She held the rope with one hand and brushed her callused fingers over a remote. Music sprang from speakers in the corners of the room. I typed furiously. Dorothy wrapped the ropes around herself to hold them while she slipped on a pair of leather gloves. Her eyes were focused on the inch between glistening cock and glistening girl. She pulled one rope slowly and the girl’s hips moved forward, forward, the head of the cock closing in and closing in and almost slipping into the wetness but just missing.
Dorothy stomped her foot with a huff and that little motion, the little involuntary tug on the rope mixed with the lubrication make the thick head of the cock slip right into Vyvyan who for the first time tensed and made a groan into the gag.
Dorothy nearly jumped, her eyes bright and her body bouncing with energy. She leaned to one side and the cock slipped in to the hilt, then she paused before pulling on the other rope which pulled Elle back and almost out.
It went on like that for a bit, Elle now completely a puppet, fucking Vyvyan by Dorothy’s control. The rhythm shaky and uneven at first, slowly becoming harder and smoother. Dorothy stood, shifting all of her weight, pulling one rope then another like pulling the rigging for a great ship. Vyvyan moaned louder and louder as she was penetrated by proxy.
Dorothy was flushed for the first time. She bit her lip as she pulled each rope, her eyes glued on the cock slipping in and out. She maneuvered the ropes so that she could move closer, watching intently. She pulled harder on one rope making Elle’s possessed body thrust hard into Vyvyan. She did that over and over again until Vyvyan’s body started flailing and tensing and her head shook.
As if on cue the music started to die. Dorothy was panting. Elle had gone limp, now wholly held up by the ropes.
Dorothy lowered the doll-girl to the floor, slowly until she pooled like a puddle on the ground. She went about untying and unhooking the used girls and I sighed deeply, feeling like I was the lone audience and the curtain had just fell.